


Yes I'm Changing

by daynight



Series: Telegraph Avenue [10]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daynight/pseuds/daynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Easy Company Troopers are on tour! Relationships grow, rumours spread and fun is the operative word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes I'm Changing

**Author's Note:**

> Of course of course of course i am not trying to disrespect the real men in any way shape or form, all characterisations based on TV show depictions. No offence intended.

On one bright, white-lighted morning, the Easy Company Troopers West Coast Tour officially began. Joe Liebgott was waiting outside Malarkey’s place, smoking a cigarette and squinting as a huge, shiny and unfamiliar vehicle pulled up to the house. Malarkey himself slid open the door at the side and hung out of it, like a lemur, Skip Muck and Penkala also clinging precariously to the sides. Joe spat his cigarette out and ground it into the gutter.

"C'mon, get in?" 

Liebgott glanced over the burgundy van, a similar tone to the Nix Records shopfront in awe. "What the fuck is this?" 

Malarkey grinned. 

"Nixon, brought us a van, didn't he?" Liebgott laughed incredulously.

"Sweeeeet. Hey, move over." Liebgott slung his guitar case into the van and clambered in over the rest of his bandmates (not Nixon, who preferred the more ‘dignified’ transport of a cab), catching eyes with a familiar but not recently seen face. "Ayyy! Shifty! Haven't seen you in time, man!"

Shifty Powers had been the official photographer of Easy Company Troopers back in the day. It was said that he never missed a shot. As far as Liebgott had known, Shifty had been working on assignments from Love magazine and Paper and had far better things to be doing.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." He said in his shy southern voice, a quiet smile on his face. Touched by his loyalty, Joe gave him a small grin back. 

“Hey!” A shout was heard behind the van. Webster, who had returned to the west coast once more and had been sharing Malarkeys couch for a couple days, much to it’s owners extreme chagrin (‘I really liked that couch and now I’m gonna have to burn it.’ ‘Malark, that thing was fuckin’ hideous, we’re doing you a favour.’), was also running away from the house after hastily locking it up, obnoxious travelling rucksack slung over a shoulder. Liebgott took a second to appreciate the disheveled way his floral button-up was riding up as he sprinted, then decided to fuck with him. 

“Quick!” Hissed Liebgott. “Start driving!” Sniggering, George Luz thrummed the car into action as the band thumped on the side of the open door, jeering at a red-faced Webster.

“Fuck!” Webster was attempting to keep up. “Don’t you dare! Joe!” He was laughing, despite himself, and George Luz mercifully slowed the van so Web could accept Joe’s outstretched hand, heaving him into the van next to him. Joe slung an arm around his waist and squeezed a silent apology for the prank.

“Hey, Shifty!” Shifty looked up from his book (Susan Sontag’s history of something or other). “This is Web. He’s my…” Joe hesitated, looking at Web’s flustered face, his messed up curls and weirdly handsome face, like someone from an Abercrombie and Fitch ad from the nineties. How did he end up with him? He was a lucky piece of shit, really. “Guy.”

"He’s your guy?” Snorted Skip Muck. “We’re not in the 50’s here.” 

“Shut up.” Retorted Liebgott. For some reason, he just couldn’t bring himself to say boyfriend. He had such a mental block around it, he wasn’t used to the whole idea, let alone introducing Web to people as his ‘boyfriend’. Seemed like a whole lot of commitment. He just hoped Web didn’t mind that much. He didn’t seem to have noticed Joe’s hesitance, luckily. 

“Thought you really were gonna leave me behind.” Joked Webster, leaning his face into Joe’s shoulder.

“Nah.” Said Joe. “Who else is gonna make sure we all get to bed on time.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “ And who’s gonna help me IN bed, if you know what I mean.” He nuzzled at Web’s ear.

“Ewww!” Shouted Perconte, next to them. “Guys, they’re being gross!” Webster laughed, eyes crinkling and staring at Joe with a sort of amused admiration.

“That was terrible.”

Liebgott winked down at him. “I know.”

 

* * *

  

The shows were fantastic, lively affairs, the nights just as effervescent. They stopped at beaches, fields, forests, to shout into the open, running around wildy like they used to, getting into trouble. George Luz almost got arrested for public indecency after a fantastic find at a small-town sex shop (cow patterned briefs) led to a truly inspired prank in a middle-of-nowhere dairy queen. Nixon moped a bit sometimes but a sip of whisky and a reminder that his very capable boyfriend was probably out there doing his thing and he should show him that he could cope just as capably by himself was enough to lighten his spirits. They travelled from show to show, motel to motel, causing a ruckus wherever they went.

The first motel was downright awful. Chunky, psychedelic patterned carpets and curtains. Fluffy beige shag rug.  Webster kept on saying shit like ‘Very Kubrick-esque!’ and ‘this place has so much kitsch value’, spouting these little epithets to himself, probably just rehearsing what he was going to record in his journal later. Joe just rolled his eyes and flung himself onto the bed. Although the décor was the home furnishings answer to taking an acid tab, at least everything seemed clean and washed. Joe flopped over onto his back, removing his denim jacket and propping himself up on the murky green cushions. He also stripped off his shirt and popped the first two buttons on his jeans, heaving himself off the bed to find Webster.

Webster was fascinated by the chintzy little bathroom, gazing at the almost baroque tap when he felt arms wrap around his waist and around to the front of his jeans.

“Yo Web.” Breathed into his ear. The word ‘Yo’ should never sound that sexy. Web was honestly embarrassed for himself, but what could he say? Almost anything Liebgott did, from the crass to the banal, was oddly seductive to him. “You ever fucked in a motel before?”

“No-o.” Websters voice shook a little as Liebgott began deftly undoing his jeans. Now that was genuinely embarrassing. Liebgott loved to mess with him and Webster loved when he did it. 

“Hmm.” Liebgott seemed pleased with his wavering answer and began to kiss down the back of his neck, pressing himself forward into Webster. Suddenly, after leaving a light lick at his nape, he roughly took his shoulder and swung him around, crushing their lips together ferociously whilst simultaneously dragging him towards the 60’s inspired nightmare of a bedroom. Webster, pulse racing, let himself be pushed onto the bed and straddled. Liebgott leaned forward, his little gold star of david hitting Webster in the forehead. “This.” He muttered. “Is gonna be good.”

 

* * *

 

What was not quite as an enjoyable as the shows or the motel nights was the publicity that Nixon forced the often hung-over band to endure. They all turned up at the radio station with dark glasses on (Liebgott in a 'fucking loser-ass turtleneck' due to the almost unbelievable amount of hickeys he had from all the crazy motel sessions) groaning slightly after a very eventful gig that ended with a 4:00 am dip into the local swimming pool with an equally rowdy bunch of recently off-schedule strippers. 

"Who's your favourite artist right now?" Asked the DJ after what had seemed to be hours of interrogation as to why they had decided to get back together, which they nicely evaded with silly comments and wild made up stories (Luz’s ‘Xenu told us it was our purpose’ was Webster’s personal favourite).

"Ourselves. No, shit, we can't say that." Liebgott snorted jokingly. "Nah, we like a lot of stuff. Tame Impala's new album, the Weeknd." 

Perconte suddenly piped up. "There's a new guy we're really interested in, he's called Babe Heffron and his first EP just came out. It's called 'Into The White Forest', everyone should check it out."

Somewhere in a small record shop down telegraph avenue, a red haired teenage shop assistant spat his mouthful of fruit loops onto a comic book he was reading. Liebgott was not going to be happy about that. 

 

* * *

 

Another morning, Dick Winters was flipping through a local music magazine with his morning coffee, thinking about his scheduled lunchtime phone call with Nixon, quietly excited to talk to his touring boyfriend, who seemed to have almost completely returned to being that exuberant, charismatic and witty guy he was when they first met (albeit with more grey in his rough stubble). With a feeling of brimming pride, he noticed that there was a short article about Easy Company in there and quickly began reading it.

Interviewer- What’s Webster’s role?

Webster- Well, I’m their publicist, I write the road diary –

Luz- ( _Interrupting_ ) He’s our bitch.

Liebgott – He gets our coffee and rubs our feet.

Webster- ( _To interviewer)_ I don’t do either of those things.

Malarkey- Webster, go get our coffee.

Webster- ( _Rolls eyes_ ) Fine, back in a minute.

( _Band laughs_ )

Liebgott- In all seriousness, Web is writing for us while he takes his year off before going to graduate school. He’s studying marine animals, which is fantastic. He’s really concerned with their preservation and also putting emphasis on the non-threatening, generally, nature of Sharks, in particular, and educating the public about this field. ( _Note: He looks proud and is speaking more eloquently/politely than this interviewer witnessed the entire interview_ ). Annnnnd yes, he is also our bitch. 

Dick Winters shook his head in bemusement. Thank god he didn't have to look after those boys. 

 

* * *

 

Liebgott leafed through Webster’s tour diary one night whilst he was in the shower. They were in yet another crappy motel, this time with a bizzare grey and pink colour scheme and a scent of potpourri that reminded Joe of his overbearing Gramma. He found the latest page.  ‘Joe made a funny jibe, he is very humorous when he puts the effort in’ he read, in slanting, elegant cursive. Joe grinned. Complimentary little fucker.

God, he was feeling so fucking weird recently. He was so, he almost cringed with the realization, content? Every time he looked at Web lying across from him in the bed in the morning, he felt his heart swell in a way that he had never known. He loved their jumbled domesticity, as cheesy as it sounded, getting dressed in the morning, combing Web’s unruly hair, splashing his face with water jokingly when they brushed their teeth. Something had changed, a deeper fondness had grown like a tumour and disgustingly, he liked it. Joe sighed deeply. He picked up a pencil from the nightstand and wrote ‘You’re cute… when you put the effort in. Lieb.' under the last sentence in the tour diary for Web to find. He hoped their shared understanding of German, a surprising connection between them was that they had both aced it in high school, (Liebgott for family reasons, Webster because he wanted to read Kant, the pretensious bastard), would help the implication along. Lieb - liebe, love, or as close to it as he could bring himself.

 

* * *

 

 

It had been two weeks since Easy Company Troopers had gone on tour and Babe had to admit, he was getting a bit bored.  His Soundcloud was blowing up after he put out his 5 song EP, which kept him occupied, along with school work but things just felt a little different without the guys around. It was also harder to go to The Battalion by himself; it seemed all too obvious if he was the only one there, again and again and again. He was stirring coffee and listening to music when he began to notice a flurry of movement coming from the opposite end of the dining hall.

"Babe! Babe!" Davey, one of Babe's crew from college was bounding towards him, his checked flannel flapping around with the motion. Babe popped his earphones off his head, resting them around his neck. "You gotta see this!"

Babe looked up from his passable cafeteria coffee. "See what?"

Davey slapped an open glossy magazine down in front of him excitedly. It was a local gossip rag, reporting mostly on the Bay Area. The page showed a few pictures from Joe Liebgott's Instagram of Babe and Joe together, some with Joe's arm slung around him in the record shop, one of them both skating on long boards, one just of Babe eating a donut, which Joe had captioned 'isn't he cute?'. Of course, this had all been a joke but the magazine had not interpreted the faux-mantic pictures in quite that way. The bold pink title stated 'Easy Company Sweethearts?' and the short article read 'Remember everybody's favourite indie rock band from back in the day? Well they're back and cuter than ever! In fact, it looks like their mysterious front man, Joe Liebgott has a brand new squeeze (up and coming electronic artist Babe Heffron) to go with the new album! These boys make such an adorable couple!'

Babe started to laugh. "What the fuck?"  

"You're not mad?" Davey seemed perplexed.

"Nah. That's hilarious! Joe's gonna be so pissed though. Poor Web." 

"At least they got your name right?"

"Yeah, publicity and that." Babe had been wondering why people were giving him weird looks in the cafeteria but had just assumed he was just humming too loudly with his headphones on. 

"But what about that guy you like?"

 _Shit._ Babe hasn't considered that. What if Eugene had seen this? He didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

"Fuck!" He immediately leapt up to throw his coffee cup in the trash and make his way towards The Battalion to set things straight.

 

* * *

 

On his way, he checked his phone, something that he had completely neglected to do the entire day. There were, predictably, a barrage of entirely amused texts from Easy Company, as well as an angry group Whatsapp from Liebgott claiming that he was 'repulsed' by the claims, that he wasn't a 'fuckin cradle snatcher with a ginger fetish' and that he was going to sue for libel. Webster had sent Babe a typically long-winded and wordy private message assuring him that he wasn't upset with him, blaming the 'swine hacks of the bourgeois media' for the indiscretion. Bill had just sent him a snap chat of him winking, with the caption 'u saucy minx', which made Babe snort loudly. 

He swung into the bar, ignoring jibes from the bouncers ('Oh, Mr Liebgott!') and headed directly to the bar, magazine in hand, swiping it under Eugene's nose to get his attention. 

"Have you seen this?"

Roe looked up with a fairly annoyed expression. He hated being barged in on. 

"I don't really read magazines."

"Well." Babe pointed at the article. "I just want you to know that it's not true."

Eugene glanced down at the offending article, then back up at Babe.

"Okay. Why?"

Babe felt himself growing red in the face. 

"Because it's not?" He managed. Eugene shrugged, scanning the page before returning to the taxing task of organising the cash register. 

"Nice picture." He remarked absently.  

"Which one?" 

"Donut." Came the short reply. Babe in a tie-dyed tee shirt, halfway through stuffing a big pink sprinkled confection into his mouth.  

"It's from Joe's Instagram." Babe didn't know what else to say. Maybe Eugene just liked donuts. Babe made a mental note to buy him some. 

A grunt in response. Right. Now that it was completely clear, once again, that the Doc had no interest at all in his romantic life, this may be the right time for some digging in the vein of social media. Babe had, of course, tried to find Eugene on all forms, like all anxious millennials, but had come up short. Gene didn't even have any apps on his phone and could barely be seen using it, although he did text Babe (after he badgered him for his number for about 2 hours) once or twice to tell him when the bar would be closing early. He was an entirely elusive being. Even discovering where he lived, a tiny flat near the college that Babe could only imagine the interior to, had been a huge mission completed only when he had insisted on following Roe straight to his door on one of their rare nightly walks home together. He had never received an invitation inside, so who knows what that little environment was like. He could imagine it was nice, though, clean and comfortable. 

"So, speaking of, you have an uh, Instagram or a Facebook or anything." Real subtle.  

Eugene screwed up his nose. "No." Babe inwardly sighed.

“That’s cool.”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Babe was scrolling Instagram when a new picture came up on his feed. It was an obnoxious close-up selfie of an aggressive looking, smartly quiffed Liebgott and an embarrassed but smiling similarly quiffed Webster (they often styled each others hair, it was quite sweet really). Liebgott had Webster by the chin in a possessive hold and was squeezing his lips, giving a slightly fish-like effect to his face. The statement underneath was written in all caps. ‘THIS IS MY BOYFRIEND IF U WERE WONDERIN.’ Babe grinned and tapped the ‘heart’ button. Typical Liebgott.

Typical Webster, he made it his profile picture.

**Author's Note:**

> woooow so so so sorry this took such a long time and it's not as long as it should be! many apologies!
> 
> the title is based on [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhlPXa6g4C8) funky tuuuuune. give it a listen for some sunny tour vibes!


End file.
